They’d agreedto meet in the Sherlock Holmes pub off Charing Cross, which Mortonconsidered to be a bit of an irony. He wondered what Holmes and Watsonwould have made of all the advances in crime detection technology. ‘Deoxyribo Nucleic Acid, my dear Watson’ didn’t quite have the same ring to it.
The onlydifference that the elapsed time had made to Dr Baumgartner’s appearance wasthat his thick black beard had turned to concrete grey, but for the revealingyellow stain around his mouth. Ten roll-ups a day since he was fourteen,something that he inexplicably sought to tell the class on a regularbasis. Apart from that minor change, he looked just the same as the lasttime that Morton had seen him, which, if he remembered correctly was at a photoanalysis conference in Eastbourne three years ago.
They sat at atable mercifully distanced from the rest of the pub’s clientele. Mortonexplained the whole Coldrick Case, point by point, without exaggerationor embellishment. The more he summarised the Coldrick Case, themore far-fetched it sounded, like some awful Sunday night drama on ITV that hewould avoid like the plague. Dr Baumgartner didn’t seem in the slightestbit fazed and actually praised Morton for his thoroughness. ‘You alwayswere a fastidious bugger at university. I think most genealogists wouldhave thrown in the towel long ago, so you should be congratulated for stickingat it. This is exactly your kind of work, make the most ofit.’ Morton hadn’t thought about it like that before. He supposedthat, despite the obvious drawbacks to stalking, mugging, explosions, espionageand a throbbing lump on the side of his head, it certainly livened up whatcould otherwise be a rather dull job.
‘And what isthat you’d like my help with?’ Dr Baumgartner asked.
Morton delvedinside his bag and pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m hoping that you’ll beable to compare Finlay Coldrick’s DNA,’ he said, raising the swab stick, ‘withSir David James Peregrine Windsor-Sackville’s.’ Morton raised the plasticbeaker he had procured from the apple-pressing marquee yesterday – entirelyillegal of course, but Morton hoped that it was the kind of ‘thinking outsidethe box’ of which Dr Baumgartner might approve.
‘Fine, noproblems at all,’ he said, without as much as a flash of hesitation. ‘IfI were in my lab in Birmingham I could have given you the result in under anhour but it’ll be a bit longer than that, I’m afraid. Give me a day ortwo and we’ll see what I can come up with.’
‘Noworries. I’ve another request, too, if you don’t mind. Could yousee what you think about this?’ he said, passing over James Coldrick’s copperbox. It felt a bit presumptuous to be asking his former lecturer to dohim such large favours but Morton was desperate. Dr Baumgartner mightjust be able to offer a new perspective, spot an anomaly that years in theForensic Science Service had taught him. The main thing was, Mortontrusted Dr Baumgartner implicitly.
Dr Baumgartneropened the box and took a cursory glance at the photograph. ‘Yes, I’llgladly give you my advice, for what it’s worth, but you seem to be doing apretty exhaustive job by yourself,’ he said, setting his thick-rimmed glassesdown on the table and giving his beard a contemplative stroke. ‘Listen,Morton. You have a doubtless natural genealogical instinct that you needto trust a bit more. You’ve come all this way by yourself, which isfrankly admirable. It’s more than I would expect of some of my top peopleat the FSS. Have faith in your abilities.’ He gave his beard anothergentle tug, reset his glasses and read the letter. Once he had finishedreading, he set the letter down and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes driftingthoughtfully. ‘It certainly does come across like she knows the end isnigh,’ he finally said. ‘Can I take it away and see if I can come up withsomething?’
‘By all means –thank you,’ Morton said. ‘I’d appreciate some fresh eyes.’
‘Great,’ hesaid with a smile, carefully placing the two items back in the box. ‘Now,I think it’s time for another beer. My shout.’
Morton watchedas Dr Baumgartner toddled off to the bar, an eccentric but redoubtablefigure. It felt good to Morton to be back in his company and to receivehis approval.
Morton was more than happy to have hisPampers box of treats quietly sidelined by the news of Juliette’sinterview. It wasn’t like he was relishing telling her that his dartstrophy had survived the blast when everything she valued and cherished assentimental had perished. On the way home he had even considered dumpingthe damned box and all of its contents and telling her that nothing had survived. That way they were on an equal ‘let’s start again' footing. He stowed thebox at the bottom of the stairs and joined Juliette in the kitchen.
‘You’ll neverguess who conducted the interview?’ she said, pouring herself a cold beer andperching herself on the edge of the table. She didn’t give him much timeto guess but if she had, then Jones and Hawk would have been his firstanswer. ‘Only Olivia Walker!’ Nope, it was safe to say that shedefinitely hadn’t been anywhere near his top ten guess list.
‘I did say“Expect the unexpected”,’ Morton said sagely.
‘Yeah, but youdidn’t tell me to expect her to be acting like my best friend. Christ, I was waiting for the camera crew to leap out, she was so sickeninglyfriendly. She said she was so grateful that I’d spotted her error in notchanging the ownership of her car and that she was sorry that I’d beensuspended – administrative error - and that I could start back to work thereand then if I wanted to. She’s been hearing great things about me aroundthe station! I mean, can you believe it?’
Morton couldn’tbelieve it. But then again, with a moment’s thought, he actually couldbelieve it. What was that old saying about keeping your friends close andyour enemies closer? Superhero
